


Midwest Boy

by I__A



Series: dead end [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (it's all Ethan's fault), Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mark blames himself this time, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Night Stands, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, They know they're stuck in a cycle together, They love each other, Unhealthy Relationships, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I__A/pseuds/I__A
Summary: Ethan is from the east coast. Mark’s from the west coast.They find each other halfway somewhere in the Midwest.(a random cycle in my soulmate reincarnation au.)
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Series: dead end [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826359
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	Midwest Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [one hell of a year](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013917) by [babyhandsnestor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyhandsnestor/pseuds/babyhandsnestor). 
  * Inspired by [Weird Autumn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410105) by [ChilledLime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChilledLime/pseuds/ChilledLime). 



> Ethan’s love is desperate. Mark’s love is painful. They make it work (sometimes).

“What do you do when I’m not here?”

A sudden question. In the few encounters they’ve shared, laying their souls bare to each other like strangers in the night - a summer of one-night stands - In all the nights they’ve shared filled with rough kisses and bruising caresses, Ethan didn’t think that Mark would be the type to indulge him with late-night pillow talks. 

The question itself isn’t one that’s out of character for Mark; if anything, Ethan is more surprised at the timing of the inquiry than the meaning of the words themselves. Mark  _ did  _ warn him that he is narcissistic in nature. Everything he did, he did for the grandiose idea of himself.

_ Or maybe,  _ Ethan thinks to himself,  _ maybe he means what I do in between our lives together. _

“Hm…” He turns on his stomach and rests his head on his arms, the thin white cotton sheet of the hotel bed twisting itself away from Mark, leaving him exposed in the cold hotel room.

Ethan sticks his tongue out at Mark and raises the corners of his mouth into an impish grin. Mark yanks the sheet back and opts to cover himself instead of amusing Ethan with any sort of response. Ethan sighs.

“Well,” he begins, “you may not be around, but it’s not like you’re gone.”

“What do you mean?”

Ethan doesn’t know where to begin. He lets his gaze fall to the white pillow case torn apart in the throes of passion, the white-feathered stuffing flying loosely all around them like a halo made of feathers. His glasses are tucked somewhere away in a bag thrown haphazardly to a corner of their room, but if he squints just enough he can almost count the individual woven threads - microscopically insignificant on their own, but together a part of something bigger (however brief that “bigger” actually is). 

He wonders where his life’s thread fits with Mark: are they parallel to each other, running side by side, forever doomed to be together forever without ever touching, just always out of reach? Or are they perpendicular in relation to one another at one moment, a temporary interconnectedness before they run away from each other in opposite directions, looking for something else - something more?

Ethan isn’t sure which answer he prefers.

He turns to Mark.

“In the coffee of that roadside diner, I see you.” He reaches a hand out and holds Mark’s wrist. The other man’s expression doesn’t change. “In my camera lens I see you.” He brings his wrist close to his face and smiles at the three small moles on his arm, not unlike the ones he has on his own arm. “I see you in the sun,” he walks his fingers down his arm, “the moon,” he presses a kiss to his palm, “and the stars.”

(And, because he’s selfish, he traces his name on his skin because if Mark is an egotistical bastard then he’s selfishly stupid and stubbornly in love.)

“You may not be with me, but I am not without you.” 

Ethan meets Mark’s stare dead-on with a fire in his eyes that he seldom shows the other man in this cycle, “The simple answer to your question of what I do when you are not here would be,

“I think of you.” 

Mark’s expression doesn’t change, trained forever into a face of neutral indifference. 

This Mark hurts him a lot in this life - sharp canines biting until they break skin, blunt nails digging in his thighs and back, bruising holds leaving behind ugly purple marks, hurtful, degrading words of love spewing out of his lips like a broken faucet. Despite it all, Ethan is more than content to have Mark a few rainy days a year in a hotel deep in the middle of nowhere, if only to be used once and put away forgotten in the attic until next year like a Christmas decoration.

Mark pulls his arm away from Ethan. Ethan doesn’t stop him.

“Mark.” The older man hums in acknowledgement, seeing but not really  _ looking _ at Ethan since his admission of love. “You know, I didn’t drive all the way here expecting it to be all candlelight and roses. I’m here ‘cuz  _ you’re  _ here. And for me, that’s enough.”

They lay in silence for a while, the quiet buzz of the hotel AC melting to the forefront of their minds. Mark stares ahead, unsure of what he’ll find on the popcorn ceiling. He feels Ethan’s eyes tracing the outline of his body against the light of the bedside table lamp they couldn’t be bothered to turn off, almost as if his eyes were roaming hands caressing the expanse of his body.

It’s not that he disliked the attention Ethan gave him - in fact, Ethan’s hero-worship and idolization of him that survived the jump from the previous one into this one stroked his ego in  _ just  _ the right way, that it made him chase the younger man like a dog with a bone after all these years in this world - but rather, Mark didn’t want Ethan to love him as much as he does now.

It’s all too overwhelming: kissing him, holding him, hugging him, taking him - this life is an unkind one. Mark would give anything to try again next time around; he’s tempted to kidnap Ethan in his car right now, hold him hostage in the cramped enclosure of his heart, driving 70 miles per hour on the interstate highways going nowhere to nothing until he crashes them in the ocean, water filling their lungs like water balloons under a garden hose. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes.  _ I thought I could build you a place you can call home. _

Mark blinks them away. He looks at Ethan again - he’s still staring at him with an earnest and curious expression, his big doe hazel eyes peering right into him. Mark suppresses a shiver - his mind is bursting with questions he never wanted to ask Ethan until now - he doesn’t want Ethan to know how much he affects him, how he wants to throw everything he’s built away just to see him smile one more time.

“What did you want to do before we met?” he asks. “What did you say you wanted to be?”

Ethan tilts his head, his eyebrows pulling up in concern. He answers Mark’s question regardless: “A writer. I want to be a writer.”

“Aren't you dyslexic?”

“Yeah…” Ethan sighs. His shoulders droop down, almost as if his whole body was frowning at the reminder. Mark cringes at his poor choice of words.

“What can I do to help?”

Ethan’s eyes widen and his jaw falls slack. His cheeks turn into Mark’s favorite shade of pink  _ (Ethan’s shade of pink)  _ as his mind short-circuits struggling to find the right words..

“Oh! U-um, uh-” he stutters. “W-we-we can, um, go and, um, e-eat breakfast to… together in the... morning.”

Mark blinks at him. “Will it help you become a writer?”

Ethan shakes his head, and for the first time since they've met he laughs. Mark wants to make him laugh forever. “No.” He smiles.

“It will make me happy.” 

Mark nods, and lets his own lips raise into a content smile.

“What about the day after tomorrow? What do you want to do then?”

“We can go to the beach! I heard that lake beaches are better than the ones in Maine.” 

“Sounds good to me.”

_ When we are together the world is my perfect home. _

_ I build you sandcastles and you build me sandcastles, too. _


End file.
